Page 18 of Never Been Shipped

“Just rest,” he said. “I’m going to go back out, maybe take in a bit of the show if it’s already started.”

“Oh yeah. I wanted to see that.”

The Silver Cuties had done several songs on theNightshifterssoundtrack, and they’d been the main band booked for the cruise, with a full concert tonight and then another on prom night. John didn’t know any of them personally, but he took a professional interest and generally enjoyed what music of theirs he’d heard.

“Come out later,” he said. “If you feel up to it.”

She stared up at him. The room was dim, with only theoverhead light by the door switched on and no window to provide extra illumination. And yet John felt like he could see how pronounced the dark circles were under her eyes, maybe just because he knew what to look for.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Don’t you hate me?”

He thought about all the reasons heshouldbe mad at her. She’d broken up the band—that wasn’t just some Yoko Ono blame-the-woman type shit. One minute they’d been taking a brief respite after a rocky European tour, trying to figure out whether to get back in the studio or keep touring, and the next minute she’d bought the rest of them out of their contract, saying she was going solo.

She’d disappeared from his life after that, had left so many of his texts on read, had completely erased all these years of history like they didn’t mean anything to her, when they’d meant everything to him. And then the one time he’d tried to see her, she’d turned him away.

“I don’t hate you, Micah,” he said. “I could never hate you.”

“I hate myself.”

He believed her. She wasn’t justtired, he realized, she wasunhappy. And he wondered how long she’d felt that way.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said. He reached over to grab the towel animal off the pillow, setting it carefully on the nightstand before turning down the covers. “Come on, get in.”

She hesitated. “Turn around,” she said, then gave him a crooked smile when his brow furrowed at her demand. “I’ve been traveling in these clothes. I’ve been on your bathroom floor. I don’t want to contaminate your bed.”

John dutifully turned his back to her, trying to ignore theswish he knew was her pulling her shirt over her head, the hiss of a zipper and then the crackling slide of her jeans down her legs. In the mirror on one wall, he could see a flash of ankle before he looked back down at the carpet. He could hear her getting into the bed, the rustle of the covers, and still he stood there long after the sounds had stopped.

“You can turn back around,” she said, a smile in her voice. “I’m decent.”

It had always done something to him, the image of her in his bed. He’d just tried to ignore it. But how many nights had she burrowed under the covers right next to him, never consciously touching but sometimes waking up to find that they’d crept closer to each other in the middle of the night?

Now he could see the sharp line of her collarbone, that peony tattoo capping one shoulder, the straps of her black bra peeking over the white covers. He tried to bring his gaze back to her face, but that was worse—something about her expression, so vulnerable and expectant, made him not want to walk away. It made him want to take his own clothes off and crawl in right beside her, hold her while they both drifted into sleep.

“Get some rest,” he said gruffly. “And we can catch up more later.”

Chapter

Ten

Micah didn’t thinkshe’d be able to sleep at first, no matter how tired she was. For one thing, she still didn’t feel right—lightheaded and somehow empty, every movement of the boat swaying through her like she had nothing to hold her up.

For another thing, it was strange to be in John’s bed. It wasn’t the bed itself, which was standard issue for these cabins and which, as John himself pointed out, he’d never even slept in. But she couldn’t help but be conscious of the intimacy of it, the fact that this was where hewouldbe sleeping, that she was surrounded by his things, from the gallon Ziploc she’d seen in the bathroom with his deodorant and toothpaste to the shirt he’d been wearing earlier draped over his luggage. It had been the one she’d spilled punch all over, so he must’ve changed into another of his seemingly never-ending black band T-shirts while she was in the bathroom.

How strange, to have been out of each other’s lives for so long, and then to have both gotten semi-naked within feet of theother within the span of the last hour. She wondered if John had ever gotten any tattoos, like he once said he wanted. She hadn’t seen any, but then there were a lot of places to get tattoos that you wouldn’t see.

They’d gone to get their first tattoos together when they were seventeen years old. Technically too young, but they’dfeltmore than ready. That was one thing about being in a band from such a tender age—you grew up so fast. You still couldn’t vote, or smoke, or gamble, or drink, and yet you’d traveled the country with very little adult supervision playing to crowds of people, many of whom were old enough to do all those things you couldn’t.

She stretched her toes under the covers. John had even pulled the bottom of the top sheet out from under the bed, apparently remembering how much she hated having her feet constricted while she slept. She would often kick the covers off her feet entirely, letting them out in the open air while the rest of her body was cocooned warmly in blankets.

It wasn’t the most comfortable, sleeping in a bra. She reached around to unhook it from the back, sliding it down her arms and dropping it on the floor next to the bed. And there was that first tattoo she’d gotten, on her ribs right under her left boob. If she’d known that was supposedly one of the most painful places to get one, maybe she wouldn’t have done it.

It definitely felt intimate, rolling over until she was lying on her stomach in John’s bed, her breasts pressed against the crisp white sheets. She still felt lightheaded, but she no longer felt as empty, and when she closed her eyes it was no time at all before sleep pulled her under.

Chapter

Eleven

John was gratefulhe’d thought to grab a hoodie from his room before he’d left. The wind was still biting, rocking the ship a bit every time it gusted against the side. He put his hood up, hoping to block some of the wind and maybe also decrease his chances of getting stopped by anybody as he made his way toward the mezzanine above the pool deck, where the show would be going on.

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